


" . . . If Only in My Dreams . . . "

by farad



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 19:07:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3084101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farad/pseuds/farad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the Christmas 2014 stocking, and as a response to a prompt, "Buck, Vin, any, Vin is hurt, Buck gives comfort".</p>
            </blockquote>





	" . . . If Only in My Dreams . . . "

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks as ever to the awesome JoJo for her prompt beta services and excellent advice.

“Are you sure you're - “

“Leave it, Buck.” Vin's tone was hard, a sign of his anger. 

Under other circumstances, Buck would have done exactly that, left it. He'd seen Tanner angry before and he didn't cotton to being on the receiving end of that temper. 

But it didn't matter at the moment, as Vin was already riled up, and even though it wasn't exactly Buck's fault, he was still the one who had caused it. And worse, because of what had happened, Vin was sitting cock-eyed in his saddle, hurting something fierce. It was going to be a long day in the saddle, far longer than it ought to have been, what with Vin hurting. 

And worse, it was Christmas Eve. 

“I'll pay for you to stay at the hotel for a day or two, 'til your back is better.” He said it fast, hoping to get all the words out before Vin cut him off again. 

Vin made a noise that sounded like a snort, but it ended real quick and with a catch. Vin's shoulders hunched forward a little but his voice was clear enough as he said, “So that woman's husband can come at me again? Don't think so. Best plan for me – for both of us – is to get the hell out of this town as fast as we can.”

“I think he's figured it out now - “ Buck started, but Vin spurred his horse forward, into a trot. He hunched forward even more, his shoulders rounded so that Buck could barely see the top of his hat. 

With a sigh, he nudged his own horse forward. At least they were starting out fast.

Though the snow blowing into his face wasn't what he bargained for. It didn't help the pounding in his own head or the queasiness in his belly. 

They trotted out of the town and down the road for a piece, Buck struggling to keep up while keeping his stomach. The morning was grey and cold, the snow coming down faster as they moved along. Usually, this ride would have taken most of the day – it had when they'd come up the day before yesterday, delivering the signed orders from the Judge and then staying to make sure that Sheriff Barts had the help he needed to enforce the arrest warrants and eviction notices the Judge had issued. 

The Judge had expected trouble and there had been some; the arrest warrants and eviction notices were against men who were believed to be in one of the gangs of raiders that were terrorizing the territory, some of them squatting on land that rightfully belonged to others. Barts was a good sheriff, though, and he'd figured out real quick how to use the men he had to do the most work fast. They'd met some resistance, and two men had been wounded while trying to escape, but none of the lawmen had had more than a bruise and some scraps. 

No, the trouble had come last night, when Buck had interfered, as Vin said, in a situation at the saloon.

A situation involving a woman, and a man who was taking liberties he had no right to take. 

Buck shivered at the memory of it. Or maybe it was because of the snow clinging to his coat. 

He wasn't aware of Vin slowing down, but he was suddenly riding close. Vin appeared to be leaning ever more cock-eyed in the saddle and Buck opened his mouth to ask. But before the words got past his lips, Vin was interrupting. 

“Snow's beginning to collect on the road. We've can still go a ways, but if this keeps up, it ain't gonna be passable. I'd say we should ride as hard as we can while we can, and hope we get shed of it. You up for it?”

Buck's mouth went on like it usually did. “Reckon I'm better up for it than you are, seeing as I'm not falling out of my saddle.”

Vin straightened and turned to glare at Buck. Or tried to. Somewhere between his spine shifting and his neck turning, his body stopped moving, though his eyes managed to find Buck's, showing that they could be colder than the air around them. 

Buck found himself swallowing, remembering anew the reasons why it wasn't wise to be on Vin's bad side. His mouth worked again, but this time, it was a good thing. “Reckon we can ride as fast and as far as we can. Closer we get to home, the more likely it is that we'll ride out of this – we are riding out of the mountains, after all.”

Like before, Vin didn't make time for an answer; he spurred his horse on before the last words were out of Buck's mouth.

They rode hard for a time, long enough for the sick feeling to fade out of Buck's head and gut. They had to slow in places where the road was too steep and too tricky, which gave the horses some time to recover. But as it got closer to noon, the grey of the morning was turning to a grey afternoon and while the snow was getting no worse, it wasn't getting much better. The road didn't seem to be getting a lot worse, but staying about the same, as if they were running at about the same speed as the storm. 

But as they found a new stretch of flatland, coming into a stand of trees, Vin's horse started to slow. Vin wasn't moving, his body still and hunched. Buck came up beside him, calling out and worrying when he got no response. His own horse slowed, pacing Vin's and leaving him free to reach out just in time, catching Vin's arm as he tilted toward Buck and started to slide out of his saddle. 

“Whoa now – Vin! You all right?” 

Vin twitched and shuddered under Buck's hand, and he tried to turn his head. Like before, though, his head only moved so far and stopped. This time, though, his eyes were not cold like the temperature but instead they were cloudy, like the day itself. 

“Vin?” Buck asked again, holding a little tighter and pushing Vin back into place on his horse. 

“Can't move,” Vin muttered, his voice tight. “Need . . . to get . . . down.”

“Can you hold still 'til I can get down?” Buck asked, kicking one foot free from the stirrup to dismount. 

“Yeah,” Vin said, though it was weak. He tilted forward, curling over the saddle horn, and Buck noticed that his knuckles were white where they gripped the reins and the horse's mane, holding himself in place.

“Hold on, now,” Buck said, moving as fast as he could to get off his horse. The snow was soft under foot, but ice was beginning to form under it. He slipped as he moved, and it took him a few seconds to get make sure he had purchase, which turned out to be a good thing. Vin was shaking harder now, either from the cold or the effort to keep himself on the horse. 

“Here we go,” Buck said, taking hold again of Vin's arm. “Come on, let's get you off of that horse.” 

It wasn't that simple though; Vin couldn't seem to let go of the saddle, nor could he seem to move. After a few seconds, Buck tugged lightly on Vin's coat, trying to coax him. When nothing happened, he tugged harder. “Come on, now,” he encouraged, “don't you want to get down?”

Vin made a noise and his shoulders moved a little, as if he were rocking. Buck pulled again and this time, Vin came off the horse – not carefully, or slowly, but like a sack of flour. Buck barely stayed on his feet, and he barely managed to keep Vin from falling on his face. As it was, Vin went to his knees and there was a garbled cry of pain, something Buck had never heard before from this man. 

“Whoa!” he called out, struggling to get a hold on Vin's shoulder. Vin was gasping for air and shaking hard now, his upper body unnaturally rigid but leaning to one side. “You all right there?”

Which of course Vin wasn't. He stayed on his knees, his hands on the ground in front of him as if he were trying to hold himself up. 

“Vin?” Buck asked, not sure of what to do. “Can you stand? You're gonna get pretty wet down there.”

Vin didn't answer, but after a time, his gasping slowed. He moved, his shoulders twitching as if he were trying to bend his back. There didn't seem to be much give, though, and Buck swallowed, worried. Adaline's husband had been drunk and angry this morning when he'd come up on Vin in the livery, and he'd not cared overmuch that Vin hadn't been the stranger in town who'd stopped him from beating up on his wife the night before. He hadn't given any warning before taking the broad side of a support beam to Vin's back, catching Vin by surprise. 

“Want me to help you stand?” he asked, not sure what to do.

Vin grunted, which wasn't really an answer, but he moved to get his feet under him, slipping a little in the icy snow until he got purchase. Then, when what Buck could see was an effort, he pushed himself up with his hands and tried to get to his feet. Buck helped, pulling him and steadying him until he was standing. 

He was still, though, at an angle, his upper body tilted to one side, a little to his right and a little forward. One of his hands came up to his side, at the bend itself, and pressed in, as if to shore him up. 

“Vin?” Buck asked, worried in a new way now. He looked to the sky, which he could see through the  
bare limbs of the trees. The snow was still coming down, in soft flakes that seemed to drift to the earth. But the grey of the clouds was getting darker, a sign that the storm wasn't lessening the closer they got to home. 

“In my saddle bags,” Vin said, his teeth clenched. “Tin of liniment.” 

Buck hesitated. “Can you stand if I let go?”

Vin moved his head once, in a tight nod. His hat was splotched dark where snow had melted on it, and his face was pale where it wasn't chapped red from the cold. 

Buck slowly let him go, waiting until he was sure Vin had his feet under him before moving away. He wasn't really aware of talking, but the sound of his own voice filled the air around them. “You carry liniment all the time? I knew you had some trouble with your back, but I didn't realize it warranted this – did Nathan make this up?” He was rummaging through the saddlebag on the side of Vin's horse closest to them, pawing through Vin's shirts and bandanas, a clean set of under-drawers, a sharpening stone, a box of bullets, a box of Lucifers – then he touched metal. 

The tin was small and round, scratched and dented from long use. It was held closed by two leather thongs, each pulled tight and knotted together at the top. “This is?” he asked, holding it up.

Vin tried to turn to see but his head only moved so far before he stopped. “Tied closed?” he asked instead. 

“Yeah, leather ties,” Buck answered, shoving everything back into the saddlebag and pulling it closed before settling back on the horse's haunch. He stepped back to Vin, offering the tin. “Need me to rub that on you?”

Vin took the tin and tried to look at Buck, a glare in his eyes. “I can manage,” he said shortly. He drew a deep breath and lowered the arm bracing him up. He swayed a little, but before Buck could reach out, he managed to steady himself. “Done it before. Just need to move around a bit, get it to loosen up.” He moved one foot forward, slipped a little but caught himself. “You see to the horses, if you don't mind.”

Vin took another step forward, this one with more confidence. He seemed to have a destination in mind and Buck glanced around, eventually catching sight of the small shelter created by a group of trees standing close together. A couple of them appeared to be evergreens, and their branches seemed to be holding more snow than the ground around them. 

“Hang on there,” Buck called, turning to his own horse and quickly untying his bedroll. “This might make it a tad easier.”

He managed to move past Vin without falling, reaching the area under the trees with enough time to clear away a piece of ground before dropping down to shake out his bedroll. It would end up wet, but he'd learned long ago not to let that worry him overmuch. They couldn't be here too long, not in the open this way, with the snow still coming. 

“Ain't no need - “ Vin started as he drew near, but Buck waved him off. 

“Don't need you falling down, adding to the hurt you already got. You need help getting situated?” He got back to his feet, brushing the snow and dirt from his knees. 

Vin drew a breath, the lines at his eyes tightening. He looked down at the spread out bedroll, frowning, then he sighed. “Reckon so.”

Buck helped him ease down onto the bedroll, watching the way his face scrunched into lines with the pain of it. “I can't believe he thought you were me,” he said softly. “Sorry this happened to you, Vin.”

Vin nodded, his eyes still closed. “See to the horses. Might let loose the cinches – could be a spell before I can ride again.”

'A spell'. Buck looked up at the sky which was getting darker. Hopefully not a long one. 

It didn't take him long to get the horses seen to, loosening the saddles and looking about to make sure there was enough for them to forage and distract themselves. Both of the horses were trained well enough that he wasn't worried about having to tie them off. 

When he got back to Vin, Vin was struggling back into his coat, his teeth chattering and his shirt tails loose from his pants. He was sitting on the bedroll, his long legs out in front of him and the tin open beside him. The smell of menthol and eucalyptus was strong, carrying on the cold air, and Buck  
almost coughed. 

Vin got his coat on then propped on one side, his upper body leaning. His eyes were closed but his face didn't look as scrunched as it had before. “Won't be too long,” he said as Buck came near. “Just got to get it to loosen a bit.”

Buck crouched down, looking at Vin's face. “You said this has happened before?”

Vin nodded, his head moving a little easier than it had been. “Back's got a strange curve to it – been that way since I was born. Most days, it don't bother me too much, but sometimes, when I work it too much or when I take a fall, it locks up on me.”

“Or when someone hits you cross the back with a board?” Buck asked. “Vin, I know you don't understand what happened there - “

“Reckon I do, Buck,” Vin held up a hand and his eyes finally blinked open. “I've known you long enough to know you ain't gonna put up with no woman being hit on when you can stop it. And I reckon I can't blame you, though there ain't a lot that came of it.”

Buck shivered, the cold slipping under his coat and through the leather of his boots. “You don't think we helped her? Gave her time to get away from that sorry excuse for a husband? Hell, after he got you in the barn, the sheriff had all the excuse he needed to put the bastard in jail long enough for her to clear town.”

Vin swayed a little, but this time Buck could tell he was meaning to, testing the pain of his back. “No, don't think that for a minute. You think you're the only man who's ever tried to help her out? The only person?”

Buck frowned, not liking the turn of this. “Don't matter if I am or not – matters that I did. Matters that she's got the chance to start clean, make a new life for herself.”

Vin stared at him for a time, his blue eyes not angry, not cold, but something else. He was looking at Buck the same way he sometimes looked at Ezra, when Ezra was talking his fancy talk, trying to get his way. Or the way Vin looked at Josiah when he started talking about the wonders of God and how God took care of people who helped themselves. Or the way Vin stared at Chris when Chris was on a drinking binge, talking about how worthless he was. 

Buck frowned, his head starting to hurt again. He wanted to ask something but he wasn't sure what. Several different thoughts fluttered through his mind, but they didn't quite settle down to one idea.

Vin stopped rocking on his arm and slowly tried to sit up. It was an effort and it showed in the return of the lines to his forehead and around his eyes. “It's Christmas Eve,” he said carefully, as if he had to think on each word. “Reckon you got plans for it.”

Buck smiled despite himself. “Figure we all do, don't we? Peace, goodwill toward – hell, everybody!”

Vin frowned but Buck couldn't tell if it was from what he'd said or from the return of the pain. “Go on, then,” he said. “I'll be coming along soon enough, no use on you missing your plans.”

The very idea of it caught Buck unawares, and once more, his mouth took over before his brain kicked in. “Well, Vin, that's mighty kind of you – damned charitable! I was planning to be back to the saloon tonight in time to bring a little of the spirit of giving to some of the hard-working ladies there!”

Vin nodded, and his eyes closed once more. “Go on then. You can take my bedroll, just in case there's trouble. I'll be along soon enough.”

“No need in that,” Buck said, rising to his feet. “Won't take me long to get back to town - “ At which point his brain finally caught up with his mouth and with – other parts of his body. Which was good as he slid on a patch of ice and caught himself on a tree, which saved him from landing on certain parts of his body that he did have plans to use later tonight. Or, tomorrow. 

He caught his breath before turning back to Vin. “Though be much better when we get back together. Wouldn't be Christmas without you there, too.”

Vin made a noise that Buck knew had nothing to do with his pain. This time, some of the ideas that fluttered around in his head landed where he could see them. “You ain't much for Christmas, are you. Now that I think about it, I don't recall you being around much over Christmas. Why is that?”

Vin shrugged, or tried to. It was more movement than he'd had so far, so Buck took it as a good sign. “Guess I don't think of it the way you do. Just another day.”

It took a few seconds for the words to make sense. When they did, Buck found himself unable to find other words. 

Vin kept talking though, even as he kept moving moving, shifting from side to side. “Josiah's got the way of it, I warrant, the preaching about God and Jesus and the wise men. He's most likely in his church now, getting ready for that midnight mass that he's so keen on. You ever been?”

Buck swallowed, memories stirring of moments in churches. “No, can't rightly say as I've found myself in church too often, not at night.” Though there had been that one time, when he'd had that dream, but he didn't think of that as church. That had been to talk to Josiah. 

“It's a sight,” Vin said, rocking a little more quickly from side to side. His face was getting pinker as the cold set it, and Buck found himself walking around in small circles, trying to stay warm. “All them candles and flowers and color. Not like any other time to be in church. And it's a good preaching, too, a real story. It don't make no more sense than most of the stories they tell in church, but it's got a happy ending. Well, at least at that time.”

“My ma used to read it to me, when I was a boy,” Buck said, remembering those late nights in his ma's bed, the smell of clean sheets and aromatics, the warmth of his ma beside him as she read to him from the old family Bible. 

“That's the reason for Christmas, least that's the way I've always understood it.” Vin stopped rocking and sat up straight. His feet were out past the line of protection from the trees and the lower part of his legs and his boots wore a fine coating of snow. Buck looked at his own shoulders to find a similar blanket which he wiped away as well as he could. 

“That does seem to be the reason,” he agreed, distracted by his attempts to clean himself off and to warm up. “But it means more than that. Even Josiah will tell you that – ain't he always in the saloon before he gives that midnight preaching? I always figured his churchly ways were because of his pa, the old missionary man that Josiah can't seem to shake off.”

Vin grunted, and Buck looked to him, not sure if the sound was one of agreement or disagreement – or, more like, pain; Vin was stretching forward, his arms out, hands reaching towards his feet. He made another, different noise, and this one Buck clearly knew to be pain. But Vin didn't stop his stretching, as if the pain were a good thing. And maybe it was. He seemed to be moving a little easier, which meant they might be moving along pretty soon. 

“Josiah's pretty strong in his own beliefs,” Vin huffed out. “His pa must've been a powerful influence, but Josiah seems to have found his own way. Don't reckon his pa would be too keen on him standing with us.”

Buck grinned, thinking of Josiah and his way with a gun. And his temper. 

Vin slowly relaxed and sat back. “Think I can ride again,” he announced. “Best get you back before the night is over. Would hate for you to miss your celebration.”

Buck walked over slowly and reached out a hand to help Vin get to his feet. “Ain't just me, you know. JD's got big plans for the night, too – and that ain't just going to Josiah's preaching, though I know he'll be at that.”

“Him and Casey and Nettie,” Vin agreed, letting Buck help him to his feet and thanking him with a nod. He was still stiff and his face showed that he was still hurting, but he was more limber, not bent at the odd angle – well, not bent as much. He turned to look at the bedroll, and Buck waved him away. 

“I'll get this tied up – think you can cinch up the saddles?”

The snow was coming down harder now, the storm catching up with them. They mounted up, Vin moving carefully but with more ease. But not speed; they let the horses walk, not slow, but not trotting either. 

The pace made it easy for Buck to talk, which he did, as much to entertain himself as anything. “Chris used to be big on Christmas, just like JD is now. He'd plan for weeks on what to get Sarah – and then, when Adam came along? You'd have thought the whole Sears and Roebuck catalog had been ordered, yes siree. Sarah would get so upset with him – but then she'd be so excited when she found presents all over the house. And Adam? That boy surely believed in Santa Claus. It was hard to get him to bed on Christmas Eve – and he'd wake up every few hours, just to see if Santa had left him presents.”

Those were good memories, helping Chris and Sarah lay out Adam's stocking and fill it up with toys and clothes and - “And the food! Chris would have oranges shipped in from California. They'd put a couple in Adam's stocking but he'd leave the rest for Sarah. She made this orange cake that – well, I've never had anything like it, not before or sense. I'll grant you, Nettie's lemon pie is a fine thing, but that cake? If you'd ever had it, you'd know what I mean.”

The thought of it made his mouth water, but at the same time, it re-awoke the ache in his belly that came every time he thought of Sarah and Adam. 

“No wonder Chris spends his Christmases out at the ranch, too drunk to piss,” Vin said, his voice low and seeming to come from a distance. “Don't reckon it's a good day for him – or just another day, like it is for me.”

This was not the feeling he wanted to have right now; coming with Vin was not keeping him in the Christmas spirit. Were he given to thoughts of vengeance, he'd consider this Vin's retribution for the attack this morning in the livery, and for a few seconds, he considered it. 

But that, too, wasn't good for his Christmas mood. So instead, he turned his mind elsewhere. “Well, Nathan's gonna have a great day. By now, I suspect he's headed off to the Seminole village, to court Rain.”

Vin chuckled, a sound that Buck appreciated; he was feeling better. “Didn't think you cottoned to marriage – didn't you just get out of that with that Perkins woman?”

Another pain, but different. “Guess some people are made for marriage,” he heard himself say. “Nathan and Rain are two of them – he'll always think of Christmas as a wonder, a day to celebrate his happiness.”

“As long as they stay happy,” Vin said, but he grinned, taking the sting out of the words. “Most likely you're right, though. Those two do seem made to be together. Can't say that about many people.”

“That why I never see you with a woman? Well, other than . . .” He actually caught himself before he finished the sentence. 

But Vin turned to look at Buck, and the grin on his face slipped away. “Yeah, might be,” he said after a time. “But I also ain't looking. That thing with Charlotte – well, it was wrong from the start, for me and for her. I knew it, I just – well, I just felt like I could help her. Guess it was like you and that woman back in town. Something I thought I could do something about. Shoulda known better.”

He looked away, and a snow flake settled on his face, running down his cheek as it melted. 

They rode a ways in silence, the snow coming down harder now, filling the air with that strange loud quiet that only snow seemed to have.  
It gave Buck time to think on things he'd rather not have, bringing back those pains from earlier: Sarah and Adam, Louisa, the memories of Christmas past never to come again. He wondered if Vin was right about Adaline, if she'd end up staying with that son of a bitch. He hoped not, hoped she'd high-tailed it to her mother like she'd said she was going to. 

But Vin was right that many women didn't. Many stayed with the men who hurt them, believing that life wouldn't get no better. Believing that they didn't have a choice.

Vin was starting to lean again, and Buck suspected that his back was locking up. They were still miles from town, and though he was pretty sure it was about mid-afternoon, the sky seemed to be getting darker.

He opened his mouth to ask if they should stop or start looking for a place to spend the night, when Vin started talking. 

“My ma died when I was young. I don't recall much about Christmas with her, just that it was warm and there was good food – not cakes and such, but meat and potatoes and biscuits, enough for us to eat our fill. We didn't have stockings, but we did have clean socks and there was something in 'em – piece of candy, maybe a toy – I think Nellie, my baby sister, had a little doll in hers and I had a slingshot. Ardel was just as baby, but he had a sock, too. Don't recall what was in it, though.” He leaned a little more forward, his face tightening. “It was a good day, that Christmas, though we still had to go to church with my ma's ma and my uncle and his wife.” 

He fell silent for a time, and Buck was torn between wanting to ask questions and wondering if he should. That was the most he'd ever heard Vin say about his past, about his family, and he wondered where Vin's siblings were now. 

Though he knew about Vin's ma, which was part of why he wasn't sure what he could or should ask. 

Vin shifted again in the saddle, his horse tossing its head and missing a step that jarred them both. “Damnation,” he muttered, his tone sharp. 

“Need to stop?” Buck asked, pulling his coat closer around him. 

“Don't have time,” Vin said, using one arm to support his upper body again. “Gonna be dark too soon.”

“Can't argue about that, but we should find some place to bed down,” Buck offered, trying not to think on the plans he'd had for the night, plans that would help take his mind off the other sad things that were too close in his memories.

“Gonna make it back,” Vin said. “Ain't gonna make you spend Christmas away from the people you care about.”

Buck shook his head and a shower of snow fell off the brim of his hat. “I will be sharing it with someone I care about,” he said, the words coming easily because they were true. 

Vin swayed a little in the saddle but kept himself upright. “Reckon I will be too,” he said, his voice low. “But still prefer to be back with the others, too.”

They rode a while longer, the gathering snow muffling everything and turning everything white. It was hard to tell where they were, the usual landmarks covered over and hardly distinctive – at least to Buck. Vin seemed to know where they were going, or at least his horse did. 

Vin moved once more in the saddle, hunching over his saddle horn, then he slowly, carefully sat back up. “My ma died the spring after that Christmas. I went to live with her ma and Nellie and Ardel went to live with their pa and his family. My ma's ma wasn't big on Christmas – we had too much to do and too little to share. Christmas was just another day, 'cept we went to church if it weren't on Sunday.”

“You keep calling her your ma's ma,” Buck said when Vin stopped talking. “Wasn't she your grandma?”

Vin tilted his head from side to side. “Yeah, reckon so, but she didn't like to think about it. My ma shamed her by not marrying my pa.”

Buck swallowed, thinking about his own ma. She hadn't married his pa, either, but he'd had Christmas with her – not as many as he'd like, there would never have been enough of them. But enough that he knew what Christmas should be about. 

Something else came to mind, then. “Wonder why Ezra don't go to Maude at Christmas? I know if my ma were alive, I would.”

“Heard him say once that this time of year was best for taking advantage of the good spirits.” He huffed a sound which could have been an attempt at a laugh. “They seem to see enough of each other the rest of the year. And he sends her presents.”

“He does? How do you know?”

Vin grinned again, his teeth flashing white in the growing darkness. “Caught him out one day. He was looking at a Sears and Roebuck, on the traveling bags. I asked if he was looking to leave us and he answered before he thought, said he was getting one for Maude for Christmas.” 

“Well that's good to know. I never have figured out them two and why they don't get on better than they do. She is a fine lady.” And she was, a lady in all the ways he had wanted his own ma to be. 

“Don't have much knowledge of that,” Vin said, his voice muffled as he leaned down against his horse's neck. “She and Ezra do seem like two of a kind though.” Slowly, he sat back up. “Ezra surely does seem to enjoy Christmas though – making money agrees with him.”

Buck laughed out right at that, the sound echoing through the quiet. It was hard to argue. 

They rode on for a time in silence, Vin fidgeting in his saddle, darkness steadily gathering around them. The air was downright cold now, and Buck found himself moving more than usual in his saddle, trying to stay warm. He'd left his gloves behind, so his hands were buried in his coat pockets. His horse didn't need guidance, pacing Vin's horse with ease.

After a time, Vin spoke again, and Buck realized that he couldn't remember a time that Vin had been so chatty on the trail. He must really have been hurting. “If you was to tell me about your best Christmas, would it be a story involving Chris and his family?”

Buck started to answer, but then he found he wasn't as clear as he'd thought. Those had been some fine Christmases, no doubt, all that love and warmth and laughter. Even before Adam was born, Sarah had been a big believer in the holiday and had made the house a place Buck had wanted to be. Chris, too. 

But he'd been a man by then, and he'd already lost the belief in the wonder of Saint Nicholas and the magic of the innocence that came with being a child. He'd gotten some of that back, for a time, when Adam had been born. 

And now that the thought about it, really thought about it, he knew that that was one of the reasons he wanted to get back to town. It wasn't for the women he'd be with; while he certainly did enjoy his time with them, he knew that he could have that pleasure again the next night and the night after and – well, whenever. 

No, it was for the company of his friends, particularly JD who still had a touch of that innocent belief. JD still looked at the world with wonder and awe, and Christmas seemed to be the time that was most magical to him. 

It reminded Buck again of those times with his own ma, late on Christmas Eve, her reading the stories to him, then telling him about Saint Nick and how he had been such a good boy that past year that he would wake up to all sorts of wonders. He knew now that she had saved and scrimped and bought them for him on the sly – and he knew now that she had been working so hard to help him see that he was more than the son of a working woman, that society's judgment of her did not extend to him. 

He'd awaken every Christmas morning, even after he stopped believing in Saint Nick, to find more presents under the tree than he'd been able to want. 

Because she loved him, and it was in that love that the magic of Christmas had been real. 

And that was what it was now. 

He looked over at Vin, thinking about his past – thinking about all this friends. They'd all come from nothing, even Ezra who like to pretend he was a gentleman. Of all of them, Chris had probably had the most growing up – two parents who loved him, a home that was still there, if he ever got up the gumption to go back. A community that respected his parents and him and helped to raise him. 

The rest of them, though, had come from scrawnier stock, but faith in Christmas – faith in love – had maybe been even more real. 

He looked over to Vin, watching the way he was now shifting from side to side again, knowing that he was putting up with a lot of pain yet persevering. Something caught his attention, past Vin, and when he looked straight on, he saw the first tiny lights of the town, the gold sparkling in the darkness of the night and the white of the snow. 

“Tonight,” he said, feeling a flush of warmth that had nothing to do with temperature. “My best Christmas will be tonight – you, me, Josiah, JD, Ezra – heck, betcha Chris ain't left town yet, too worried about us getting back. Nathan might be gone already, but we'll still drink a toast to him and to his happy future with Rain. And tomorrow, we'll all meet up at Nettie's for one of her home-cooked dinners, with her lemon pie that you like so much and maybe one of Gloria's fruitcakes.”

Vin laughed then, a clear, warm sound that Buck thought was as much with the relief of seeing town as with the words Buck had just said. “Sometimes, Buck, you're as full of horse shit as Ezra.”

Buck grinned at him and reached out to slap Vin on the shoulder – catching himself just before he did. “One of my many charms,” he said instead, letting his hand drop back down and worm itself back into his coat pocket. 

The horses picked up the pace, knowing they were close to home and warmth and food, and Buck in the reflection of the snow, Buck could see the lines of Vin's face tighten. But he didn't object to the new speed. Instead, he sat straighter in his saddle and stared into the distance. “Reckon you're right,” he said after a time. “Looks like Chris is still here. Nathan, too.”

Buck turned in the direction Vin was looking. At first, he couldn't make anything out, but as they moved closer, he saw that there was movement in the distance. Soon after, he could make out the shapes of men on horses, and the familiar black of Chris Larabee, darker than the darkness around him and sharp against the white of the night. 

“Told ya,” he chortled, but that warm feeling inside him came again. “He was worried about us.”

“Maybe something happened,” Vin countered, but his tone was mild. 

“Nah, they ain't moving fast enough for that to be the case. Just fast enough to see us home for Christmas.”

Vin snorted but he was grinning. “Reckon you might be right, Buck. Maybe this is the best Christmas.”

Buck laughed, and this time, he touched his spurs to his horse. “Until next year!” he called over his shoulder as he trotted past Vin and headed home, to the others.


End file.
